


The Wheel

by sleepdeprivedphilosopher



Series: fate loves a good story [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, I know as much as you do, I’m not reinventing the wheel here (haha), M/M, References to Depression, Reluctant Teamwork, Soulmates, Star-crossed, Strong Language, a millennium of slow burn, and Fate thinks you're a dumbass, baz is done with him and his denial, but is somehow still rooting for you, but like over a millennium, extremely oblivious simon, how many times am I going to rename chapters?, just making it more angsty, no beta we die like men, penny is a good friend, really this is just carry on but with more tragic backstory, seriously this is the angsty thing I’ve ever written, simon puts his foot in his mouth again, that awkward moment when you keep killing your soulmate, that awkward moment when you're in love with your killer, the bitterest baz, yea that's a capital D
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26137081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepdeprivedphilosopher/pseuds/sleepdeprivedphilosopher
Summary: In all the reincarnation stories, you're reborn with your true love. Your one and only. Your soulmate. Your fates tied together, written in the stars because one lifetime will never be enough.Simon Snow thinks that's bullshit because he keeps being reincarnated with his arch-enemy.Baz Pitch thinks that's bullshit because his love is unrequited.Both of them are tired of constantly being pulled together life after life. But Fate, despite all evidence to the contrary, is on their side.Fate loves a good story, after all.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: fate loves a good story [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694365
Comments: 58
Kudos: 190
Collections: Carry On Big Bang 2020





	1. written in the darkness of the sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey void, 
> 
> so it's finally here my entry for the Carry On Big Bang 2020. this fic took a lot out of me (still is taking a lot out of me tbh), but despite that, I've really been looking forward to sharing it with all of you.
> 
> I hope you like it. 
> 
> also, a million thank yous to my partner [@sortofsea](https://sortofsea.tumblr.com/) for their amazing beautiful just gorgeous artwork. it really made the effort of writing this fic worth it, and it's far more than I deserve. I really can't thank them enough. please check out their tumblr :)
> 
> anyway without further ado here's _The Wheel_
> 
> enjoy?

_Prologue_

It's not the first time Fate has been called here. To a scene like this one.

A field littered with bodies staining the ground red, but it isn't the calls of the dying that pull her attention. It's one desperate plea wrapped in regret, guilt, and misery. It pulses with what might have been.

And Fate is curious.

She's always summoned to scenes like this, but it's been eons since she felt compelled to answer.

She feels compelled now.

Fate follows the beacon of lost love until she reaches a boy bloody and broken and clinging to another boy with glassy grey eyes.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he tells her.

Fate has heard this many times. The claims are never true. Everything happens for a reason. She wrote all the possibilities in the stars herself.

And yet Fate feels sympathy staring into his beaten face. She sees all his possibilities. He was chosen for something just as he was tied together with the soul in his arms.

_Star crossed then_

A tragedy for this age surely, but there will be many just as tragic down the line—all bearing Fate's fingerprints.

"There are many paths, but all are meant to be," Fate answers him.

"The hell does that mean?" The boy demands.

Fate is patient. "It means that you've made your choice and now it is set in stone. The stars will remain where they are."

The boy (for that is what he is young and naive for calling on Fate) strokes his hand through his soulmate's dark hair. His blue eyes welling up with tears. "I hadn't known until now."

"That does happen," Fate says, gently.

The boy shakes his head furiously and turns those teary eyes on her. "No, he deserved better. I messed up. I can see that now." He inhales wetly. "He deserved better."

"He wouldn't be the first," Fate says.

"Please," the boy whispers. "Please, I need another chance. To get it right. I know it was meant to be different. I can feel it in my heart."

Fate looks from him to his distant stars then to the boy in his arms and his stars, now extinguished before they had the chance to burn.

This could have been a different story. Fate keeps her eyes on their stars—at their potential brightness.

And takes pity.

She looks at the boy. "What would you give?"

"Anything." His voice does not shake or waver.

"Anything?" Fate summons The Wheel.

The boy stares at it with fierce determination. "Anything," he repeats.

Fate believes him.

And spins.

The Wheel turns.

****


	2. until the heart remembers

** Simon **

When I was more interested in figuring this all out, I visited a Buddhist monk, and he explained Bhavacakra to me.

He led me to a room and gestured towards a painting on the wall. From there, he told me about the layers, about karma, and links, and liberation.

Most of it went over my head admittedly. "So it's a wheel," I said.

The monk inclined his head. "That is the best way to explain it, yes."

"But, you say there is a way off?"

He nodded.

I told Baz about it once. He had given me his _Simon is an idiot_ look. "Yes, Snow, I'm aware. That isn't what is happening here."

"Then what is happening here?" I asked.

"If I knew then it wouldn't be happening, would it?" He'd drawled.

Baz is the constant in all of this. In every life, I can remember he always shows up eventually. Even when I think this time, fate will give me a break.

And every time he shows up, we're on opposite sides.

Of a war usually. Our families were enemies, or we served different kings. One of us, the ruler and the other, the rebel leader (Baz is typically the ruler). Somehow he's always the one born with the silver spoon. Which is why I believe the wheel is bullshit (Baz must have shit karma, yet he's always the one born more privileged). I'm usually the orphan, the bastard, the down on his luck son of a bitch.

I'm not bitter about it or anything. I usually come out on top, after all, after everything is said and done.

Baz's side losses. My side wins, and we're reborn to do it all over again.

Or at least that is what I assume. I can never remember the rest of my life after Baz dies.

Even when I'm not the one killing him.

I've gathered a few theories over the years. The best I can figure is that my past lives are there to warn me about the threat Baz poses, and when he's gone, then there's no point in reminding me.

_No point at all_

****

** Baz  
**

The worst thing about reincarnation and remembering your past lives is that it all begins to get exhaustingly predictably pointless.

You encounter the same people (even if they don't remember), and you're forced to live with the same unrequited love of all your previous pathetic lives.

I've made an effort this time around—to ignore him. Once I remembered. See, the awful thing about all of this is that our memories don't return right away. Sure, when the crucible cast us together (when I shook Snow's hand), I had a bizarre feeling I knew him. I felt like I knew those plain blue eyes. He'd given me a confused look, but I was already gone before he had a chance to question me.

There isn't always a pattern to it, but usually, the memories start sometime during our late adolescence. In this life, it happened the fall of our eighth year. I woke up one morning in our shared room with a million shared lives shoved into my head.

Snow had woken up at the same moment, and I could tell by the look on his face that he remembered too (I've seen it before after all).

I'd slipped my wand into my hand. Snow had summoned the Sword of Mages.

Of course, they had been only precautionary measures. Both of us were aware of the situation. We could hardly duel right then. Not in the room, at least.

A few beats of tense silence had passed between us.

Finally, Snow had sighed while eyeing me warily. "Are we good?" he asked.

"When are we ever good?" I had bitten out, unable to hide the bitterness.

"I meant, are you going to try to kill me?" Snow asked.

I'd sighed. It really was the response the situation deserved. "Not here," I'd answered. "Not now."

_Not ever_

Even before I had gotten my memories back, I had started to fall for him, now with them back in my head; I knew I could never kill him.

"So things are?" Snow asked.

"As they've always been," I'd answered. This time I was born to a family of old valued magicians and Snow was The Mage's Chosen One. Before this moment, our end was already set in stone.

Like I said, reincarnation is repetitive. Ours especially. History doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes, and our history is the bloody Odyssey.

Snow, at that moment, had looked as tired as I felt. "Right," he'd said, and the sword vanished.

I had put my wand back in my sleeve.

We've been on an uneasy truce ever since.  
I've been trying to keep my distance. It never helps. I can never change things. I'm always drawn to him even when I really, really don't want to be. I'm always hopelessly in love with him.

And despite all the past memories in my head, I can't remember a time when I wasn't. My love for Snow lasts up until the moment he kills me and remains well into our next life.

Isn't that just tragic?

I've learned not to take it personally. It is either that or go mad with it, and I have too much pride for that.

One life I did try it (going mad that is). The moment I got my memories back, I let them drive me to the brink. That was the closest thing to sympathy I've ever gotten out of Simon Snow. Sympathy or pity, I suppose I was too far gone to tell.

He didn't kill me that time the overdose did.

He was the one to find me, though. He's always there at the end. Fate or whatever you want to call it. Simon is always there with emotion on his face I can never read, but always feel comforted by (we've never spoken about it).

My deaths are some of my calmest memories. Isn't that fucked up? But when you've died as much as I have, you get used to it. It loses its bite.

I don't remember my first life, but there must have been one. A life I lived before I knew the coldness of death. Maybe that life didn't even have Snow in it. I still haven't decided if I'd like that.

I know his view on the subject. He hates that we are constantly meeting that we can't seem to get rid of each other. That we always end up in the same place on opposite sides of a brewing conflict that neither one of us can escape.

I don't like the latter bit (the always being his enemy bit), but I'm weak enough to admit that I love that I can't seem to lose him.

That he's always there waiting for me when I get my memories back.

But he is never happy to see me. At first, he had been angry. Angry enough to attack me outright. Now he's become more tired and resigned.

We both are. Tired.

He'd be happier without me. I know that (all my past lives have proven that over and over). If I had my way, I'd die for good and leave him to his perfect endings. But I'm always cursed to be his obstacle. To be the thing keeping him from his happy ending to be the villain of his many stories.

It is how it always goes. I've tried leaving (circumstances always drag me back). I've tried dying the minute I remembered (Snow stops me). Once I even tried switching sides, but he hadn't trusted me enough to believe it, and in the end, I'd grown tired of trying to convince him and switched back.

I've tried being with other people believing I was the problem. That my faulty love was screwing with the universe, that hadn't worked either, it only ended in more heartbreak. I've decided since that there is no point in it.

I've only ever wanted one person, and nothing will ever change that. Not betrayal. Not even death. I've only ever been in love with him.

And he will never love me back.

****

The first time they meet, they are children.

Enrolled in the academy due to the magic in their blood. To better mold the next generation. Even then, there had been disputes over what exactly that mold should be.

They called it Watford. It was an experiment. Only the strongest of the youth were chosen, and Simon Snowbane, taken in by the House of Highbane, was the most powerful youth of all. If only he could learn how to control it.

Magic had a different flavour then. Some might say a more pure state. This was the age where Mages were beginning to figure out how to speak. Magic before this point had been instinctive. There had been means of harnessing it, but it tended to vary from user to user. Some were more gifted in the elements (like the House of Pitchflame's fire), and others were more gifted in healing magic (like the House of Calmsong) and so forth. Each House had their specialty.

Simon Snowbane had no specialty. No one really knew where he came from either. He just showed up one day trailing behind David Highbane, looking like he was waiting for someone to kick him out.

Naturally, Simon Snowbane and Tyrannus Pitchflame were paired together and naturally hated every moment of it. Simon jealous of Tryannus's control and Tyrannus jealous of Simon's power.

There were petty duels over bruised prides and constant one-upmanship that never turned out well for anyone. As time passed, they settled into an uneasy truce, then a wary peace until eventually, they had something resembling friendship, prickly though it might be.

That friendship lasted until the point that they left Watford, and the dam broke. Merlin, the most powerful mage in his time, passed away, leaving a power vacuum. The House of Highbane believed they were the future. The House of Pitchflame disagreed. This escalated (as it always does) until it was an all-out civil war. Each House picked a side, and each mage swore loyalty to one or the other. Simon sided with the House that took him in. Tyrannus sided with his family.

They reunited on a battlefield. Simon killed Tyrannus, who, at that point, was hopelessly in love and couldn't bring himself to fight back. And as Simon watched the life fade from his grey eyes, he suddenly understood.

So regret choking him Simon had used every ounce of his considerable power to call Fate, and then he made a deal with her.

Another chance until he got it right.

In return, he gave up the memory of his love.

That was how it started.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this update was posted at 3:35 on august 27th because I was honestly worried I'll oversleep if I don't post it now. 
> 
> this will be updating every 2 to 4 days give or take while I'm finishing polishing it up. looking forward to seeing you all in the next update, thanks for much for reading!
> 
> -still sleep deprived
> 
> come find me on tumblr! [@sleepdeprivedphilosopher](https://sleepdeprivedphilosopher.tumblr.com//)


	3. a graveyard of stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey void, 
> 
> how's life? I hope it's good. this chapter was done sooner than I expected so I'm posting it now. 
> 
> also included in this chapter is [@sortofsea](https://sortofsea.tumblr.com/) beautiful artwork so here's another thank you for that :) isn't it lovely? 
> 
> anyway yea I'm not sure what else to say 
> 
> um enjoy?

** Simon **

It's been two months since Baz and I remembered, and Baz is back to ignoring me. This always happens. The moment he remembers, he starts avoiding me like I have the Spanish flu (which is a bit rich considering he was the one who got the flu during the 1918 pandemic, not me).

He no longer mocks me in class. Whenever it seems like we might start arguing, he walks away. He stays out of our room as long as he can (sometimes he doesn't even come back at all).

I don't like it. Old me (real me?) would have just assumed that Baz is plotting something and followed him around until I figured it out, but that was before I got my memories back. Now that I know he always does this, I'm less inclined to believe he's plotting something. It is far more likely that he is avoiding me because we're nothing but bad memories for each other. I can't really blame him for that. For those first few weeks, I could barely stand to be in the same room as him (I got sent out of so many classes), and he never actually killed me. I mean, he's tried, but he never succeeded.

I did.

_I always do_

So no, I can't blame him for avoiding me, but just because I understand doesn't make the prickly uneasy feeling in my gut go away. The part of me (I'm not sure which it belongs to, old me or new me) that never feels settled until I know where he is and what he is doing.

It's paranoia due to a millennium of being his enemy. If I know where Baz is, then he can't sneak up on me and catch me unaware. He did say that things were as they always were that remembering didn't change anything, which means he still considers himself my enemy.

Meaning I need to be on my guard.

Unable to stop myself, I look across the dining hall. He's not looking at me (Baz never looks at me in the dining hall anymore). He isn't eating or drinking anything, either. Or talking to his friends like he'd usually be doing. Baz is just sitting there, staring at his hands. I'm not close enough to make out his face, but I don't have to know the look in his eyes. It's the same look he's had since he remembered—the same look I always see. Flat and blank like a light has gone out in them. No longer a deep water grey, but the dull color of wet pavement. Baz glances up and catches me staring. He doesn't look annoyed or angry. He doesn't look like anything really, just tired.

_So tired_

I'll keep my guard down for now.

****

**Baz **

**  
**I know I need to stop this. Even if I know the ending that shouldn't keep me from living the life I was given, short though it will be. It's just hard to find the will to bother when you know that it won't mean anything in the long term.

I barely have the motivation to get out of bed, let alone go to class with my murder. How can I be expected to do my assignments with the crushing weight of unimportance weighing me down? How can I be expected to take care of myself when I know this body isn't my first one, nor will it be my last.

It's pointless. All of it is.

It's making me reckless.

I don't complete my assignments. I skip class. I've stopped going to the dining hall because feeling Snow's eyes on me is unbearable.

I haven't even been feeding as often as I should.

Lately, I've taken to sitting on the ramparts' edge and wondering what it would feel like to fall.

Not hit the ground, but just fall.

_Is it high enough that the fall would kill me before I hit the ground?_

The stars are out tonight. I'm resting back on my hands, staring up at them. There's an old tale (not old when I first heard it) that says you become one of the stars after you die. It isn't true, of course, but it is a nice thought. Nice to dream of ending my life on Earth and existing in the quiet void of space. But I'll never get that afterlife in the stars just an endless cycle of lives filled with pain.

Not really fair, but what about my existence is?

Speaking of, I hear the familiar sound of Snow's heartbeat approaching me. I should get up and leave, but I don't.

"What are you doing?" he asks me.

It's his typical question. He's always asking me that.

I give him the same answer I always do, "What does it look like?" I say, waving my hand at the night sky above us.

I don't have to look to know that he's frowning. "You shouldn't be out here." Another one of his greatest hits. Always wanting to know what I'm doing and never approving of my answer.

"And where should I be Chosen One?" I drawl.

He's bristling. "Asleep," he answers. "In bed. Not out here in the cold."

"Didn't know you cared," I say.

"Seriously, Baz," Snow says. "Just come back inside."

"Rather not," I say. "Thanks for your concern."

"You're going to freeze."

"Don't care." I hear him sit down and feel the heat of his magic. I can't help but lean in a little. He doesn't notice.

"Why are you out here," he asks. Snow doesn't give up, ever. Not when it comes to me anyway.

Besides, a part of me has missed him, and I want him to stay here. I want to have his attention as much as I hate having it.

"I'm looking at the stars," I tell him.

"Why?" He sounds confused.

"Because they're there," I answer. "They've always been there."

** Simon **

I don't know what Baz is doing out here. I know he doesn't want me here, but I hadn't seen him all day, and he hadn't come back to our room.

He hasn't been to class in a week. If he hadn't been sleeping in our room, I'd have thought he'd run away from Watford entirely.

So admittedly, when he didn't come back tonight, I was worried, and I went looking for him.

I didn't know where to look, so I just covered the entire school. I'd never thought he'd be here of all places. Up on the ramparts in the middle of November when I know how much he hates the cold. When I sat down next to him, I almost jumped. The ground is freezing, and Baz is just in his shirt-sleeves and trousers without any protection from the elements. His face is tilted upwards, the moonlight shining in his dark hair. There's something almost beautiful about it.

_He's staring into the fire, and he's smiling. He reaches his hand out and allows it to sear his fingertips._

_"Basil take your hand out," I demand._

_He turns that empty smile on me. "Isn't it lovely, Snow?" The flames are lighting up his eyes, but it isn't the fire I'm used to, the one I want to see. It's artificial coming from outside and not internal. A pale comparison, but still beautiful._

He's always been self-destructive.

"You should go back inside," he tells me now.

"I'll go back if you come with me."

He snorts. "No, I don't think I will."

I cross my arms. "Then I guess I'm staying here."

"Don't be stubborn, Snow," Baz says.

"You first," I retort.

He laughs. It's short like he cut it off halfway. I've never heard him laugh without bitterness coloring it. It's not something I like to think about.

"Suppose I should have guessed that," he says. "Asking you not to be stubborn is like asking the sun not to burn. Impossibly predictable."

"I'm not predictable," I grumble.

"Don't be obtuse," he says then sighs. "I am too."

He's looking at the stars again, but it seems more pensive than it did a minute ago. He's not caught in them anymore. His mind is somewhere else. I don't say anything. I never know the right thing to say, and this feels like something I don't want to break.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks me finally quietly. "Why are you staying here?"

He asked me something like that once. It's another thing I don't like to think about, seeing him that low. Maybe that's why I'm out here. I don't want to see him like that again.

"I was," I start, stop then start again. "I was worried." There's this air between us now. I don't want to lie.

"Worried?" Baz asks, and there's a sullen edge to it. " _You_ worried about _me_?"

"I always worry about you," I admit.

I keep my eyes on the sky even when I feel him turn towards me. "Really?" He sounds disbelieving now. Suppose that's better than bitter.

"Yeah."

Baz snorts, and I look at him just in time to see him rolling his eyes. "Sorry," he says, clearly not meaning it. "But I don't believe you."

"Why would I lie?" I ask.

"I'm not sure," he says. "To make me more miserable, maybe."

"How would telling you that I worry about you make you miserable?"

"Because," he says, then shakes his head.

"Because?" I prompt. I'm not letting this go; this feels important. Like we're on the verge of something even if I don't know what.

"Because," Baz says and takes a deep breath. "Because it would mean that you care about me, and I couldn't stand that."

"Why?"

He laughs again, but it sounds more like he's crying. It's startling. I've never heard him sound like that. "Please don't."

The pain in his voice makes me want to reach out to him, but I know he won't let me, so I keep my hands in my lap.

"I'm tired of this," I confess, meeting Baz's pain head-on even if it makes my stomach turn. I'm not looking away.

"If you're tired of sitting here, you can do what I suggest and go back to your room."

"Our room," I correct. "And I'm not tired of sitting here."

I'm not actually (even if it is cold). I feel like Baz's wall is coming down, and I'm seeing what's always been behind it. I've always wanted to see what's behind it. I've seen glimpses of it over the years, but never anything I could draw conclusions from despite how long I've known him I've never actually _known_ him. For years I ignored that I wanted to, but witnessing it in front of me is making me realize the truth.

I do want to know Baz and to finally acknowledge that desire is giving me the will to continue, to open up to him in return. "I'm tired of this cycle we're in I don't want to fight you. I never have."

"You have a funny way of showing it," Baz says, and his face and voice are carefully blank. He's hiding behind his wall again, but now I'm determined to see him and keep seeing more of him until the mystery of Baz is solved.

"I never felt like I had a choice," I admit and run a hand through my hair, pulling harshly at my curls as a millennium of guilt rises in me. "I hate it."

"Yeah," Baz says, and his edges soften a little. "I hate it too."

"I'm sorry," I say. "For everything for all of it. I know that probably doesn't change anything, but I am."

Baz's eyes widen, and we're close enough that I can see his pupils dilate.

"You're not serious."

"I am."

Baz shakes his head. "Snow, you can't be serious. We've always been on opposite sides of a conflict; neither of us has ever had a choice. Apologizing to your enemy doesn't make sense."

"Yes," I agree, "but I've always wanted to say that to you."

Baz's lower lip trembles, but he quickly gets it under control. "Me too," he admits. "I don't like that we always have to fight and not just because you always win. I don't want to fight you either."

I feel something unwind in me—something I've held so close to me and for so long. The knot is old and fused tightly with time, but it's coming undone, and it's like I can breathe easier. There's wetness behind my eyes, but Baz doesn't deserve to see me emotional over this, not really, he's the one who's suffered more in our situation. I won't do that to him.

"It isn't fair," I say finally.

"No," Baz says and sighs. "But it is inevitable."

"Is it, though?" I ask.

"Yes, Snow," Baz says tiredly. "It is."

"But maybe we can change it," I say, almost like a revelation.

"Don't be naive."

"Baz listen to me," I implore him and turn to face him. I kind of want to shake his shoulders. "Things are already different. We've never talked like this before."

"So?" Baz asks rhetorically. "Every life isn't the same, Snow. There is always something different."

"Not like this, though," I protest. "Can't you feel it?"

Baz doesn't say anything for a long moment, and I worry that I'm losing him. I can't lose him. I feel like I'm finally finding him.

"And how do you propose we change it?" Baz asks, and there's only a bit of dryness in his voice.

"We find a way to break the cycle," I say. "There has to be a way."

"It's been centuries," Baz argues. "I'd think we'd have found a way out by now."

"But we've always approached it separately," I point out. "We've never worked together before."

"Are you seriously suggesting that we work together?"

"Yeah," I say hesitantly then more firmly, "Yeah, maybe that's the solution."

"Teamwork is the solution?" Baz asks. "What are you a children's television show?"

"It's worth a shot," I say. "We've tried everything else, yeah? Plus, two heads are better than one."

"Not when one of them's yours," Baz says, but there isn't any bite to it.

"Penny and I have solved a lot of things," I defend myself. "By working together."

"That's because Bunce is smart and cunning, not because teamwork is the answer."

"Don't knock it until you try it," I advise. "Come on Baz, you don't want this any more than I do, right?"

"Right," Baz says like he's signing his death warrant.

"So we work together to stop it," I say. "It makes sense."

Baz still looks dubious, but he's not protesting. I push my advantage. "It's better than letting it all happen again. If we lose, at least we'd have tried instead of just being complacent."

"Complacent is your middle name, Snow," Baz says.

"It's yours, too," I say. "Aren't you tired of it?"

Baz is quiet. I wait patiently for him to answer. I'll sit here all night if I have to (I'm plenty stubborn enough).

"Fine," Baz says at last then frowns at me. "Don't look at me like that. It probably won't work."

I'm not sure what face I'm making, but I think I'm smiling.

"Some battles are worth fighting," I say. "Even if you lose."

"Pretty words for someone who's never lost a battle," Baz mutters.

"I've lost plenty of battles," I say. "But I don't want to lose this one."

Baz isn't exactly smiling at me, but he isn't frowning anymore. "Fine, Snow, you win. We'll work together and _attempt_ ," he puts a strong emphasis on that, "to break the cycle."

I nod then get to my feet.

When he doesn't follow, I hold out my hand.

Baz stares at it like I've offered him a loaded gun.

"You won't be much help sleep-deprived," I say and push my hand a little closer. "Come on."

"You'd be surprised what I can accomplish sleep-deprived," Baz says, but he accepts my hand and allows me to pull him to his feet.

"No," I say, and hope is filling up my chest. "I wouldn't."

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this post was completed at 2:42 on a friday morning. I probably should be sleeping, but I can't stop watching music videos. is that why this fic is a bit behind?
> 
> well I'm not obligated to tell you that. 
> 
> -still sleep deprived (clearly)
> 
> come find me on tumblr! [@sleepdeprivedphilosopher](https://sleepdeprivedphilosopher.tumblr.com//)


	4. revisit old endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey void, 
> 
> so for reference I briefly mentioned something that happened in [Constant](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23543935) during this chapter. you can read it and still have it make sense without having read Constant but I recommend reading that first for the real emotional impact. 
> 
> or something. 
> 
> enjoy?

**Baz **

I'm still not sure what I'm doing here. The conversation with Snow on the ramparts last night was surreal. I'd think that Snow was lying if he wasn't a terrible liar. 

Snow doesn't want to fight me, and he apologized. 

It's more than I ever thought I'd have. 

He's sitting across from me, chewing on his bottom lip and tapping his fingers against the table as he reads. 

The midday sun is lighting up his hair, turning it into a brighter shade of bronze. The ends of his curls are glowing. He might as well have a halo. 

_He's never felt so close to me._

Snow looks up from the book and catches me staring at him. "What?" he asks. 

"Nothing," I say, avoiding his eyes. 

Snow grunts in answer and I hear the rustle of paper as he turns a page. 

_And he's never felt so far away._

We've been here for an hour already, and we've yet to find anything useful. Despite the Watford library housing centuries of magickal lore, there is very little on reincarnation. I'd blame The Mage, but if memory serves, it has always been like this. Of course, other magickal institutions in countries with a strong belief in Buddhism might have more on the subject, but there isn't a library as well-stocked as Watford's. 

It stayed that way even after The Mage picked it apart.

"What about your family Baz?" Snow asks me after another half hour of nothing. 

"What about them?" 

"I mean," Snow says, tugging on his curls like he always does when he's anxious. "You have a library, don't you?" 

"We do." I take a moment then raise both my eyebrows. "You can't honestly be suggesting that I invite you over."

"Invite is a strong word," Snow says before continuing stubbornly. "We agreed to be allies, yeah? That means you need to start trusting me." 

I roll my eyes. "Have you already forgotten the fact that my family hates you? Why on Earth would you want to spend any amount of time with them?" 

"I never said I wanted to," Snow protests. "I want to fix _this_ ," at _this_ , he gestures between us, "so I'm willing to be a little uncomfortable in the name of solving it."

"I think you're overestimating your theoretical level of comfort," I say before sighing. "Fine, Snow, you can come home with me next break."

"That's months away!" Snow objects.

"What are you suggesting we do, then? We can't just leave Watford." 

"Why not?" Snow asks. "I do it all the time." 

"With the headmaster's permission," I say pointedly. 

"I can get that." 

"I can't," I say. "And really you think you could? How do you suppose that'll work?" 

"I ah." I can literally see him puzzling this out. It's like watching a buffering computer. "I can convince him that I'm going back with you to spy on your family." 

"You're a terrible liar, Snow." 

"Am not," he huffs. 

"Yes, you are," I say and wave a hand at him. "You've always been a terrible liar. You're way too easy to read." 

"Well, we can't all be emotionally constipated," Snow says. "Some of us have feelings." 

That hurts more than I hopefully let on. Maybe Snow sees it anyway because he sighs. "Look, Baz, I know that this isn't going to be easy, but we both want the same thing, yeah?" 

"Yeah," I agree reluctantly. 

"So," Snow says. "Trust me, okay?" 

I don't say anything for a moment. I let him dangle. 

When he's starting to look really nervous, I sigh again. "If I must." 

He grins at me. I don't allow himself to grin back even though I want to. 

"So," Snow says. "I'll talk to The Mage, and we'll go to your place this weekend." 

"Bit soon," I say. 

"Now or never," Snow says. "Waiting isn't going to help anything." 

"That's not how time works," I argue. "And how do you know there will be anything worth finding at my home?" 

"Because I've been there," Snow says. "I've seen the library." 

"You haven't been there in ten decades," I argue. 

"Eight," Snow disagrees. "It can't have changed that much." 

I lift my gaze to the ceiling, asking the centuries-old wood to give Snow a few more brain cells and me a bit more patience. 

"Fine, we'll leave Friday then," I say. "I'll call Fiona to come get us." 

"Fiona!" Snow yells and the librarian gives us an irritated glare. "Sorry," Snow says before lowering his voice. "Fiona, really?" 

"You did say we have to trust each other," I remind him before reaching for the next book in front of me. 

Snow huffs, but for once doesn't argue. 

Maybe this truce will actually work. 

****

** Simon **

Baz is such an arsehole. 

I'm in the back seat of his aunt Fiona's car stuffed between my backpack and Baz's suitcase (I don't know why he packed so much honestly we're just going for a weekend). I mean, he's always packed a lot, but it made far more sense when month-long stays at people's residences were common. 

There isn't much room back here, to begin with, let alone with a massive suitcase added. If that weren't bad enough, Fiona is blasting her music, and I can barely hear myself think. 

And I've got a lot to think about for once. 

I've been trying to catch Baz's eye, but he's ignoring me like he knows that I'm uncomfortable and doesn't care. 

(Though to be fair he did sort of warn me). 

But still! If we're going to be allies, we need to be proper allies, and what kind of ally lets another ally get hearing damage? 

The arsehole kind. 

Thankfully traveling times are a lot less lengthy these days, and I don't have to suffer for more than two hours. Of course, when we got to his house, I hadn't given much thought to how I would be interacting with his family for two days. I was too focused on solving our problem. Now that his father is standing menacingly in front of me, I feel that may have been a mistake. 

I swallow hard and let Baz do the talking. 

He explains that we're here working on a project and needed the library. Fiona standing next to us, snorts and crosses her arms. "Can't say I blame them, Malcolm, you know the state of Watford's collection." 

Baz's father still seems suspicious, but he does allow me into his home, so I guess he can't be that suspicious. I can see him trying to catch Baz's eye, but Baz is purposely avoiding it and takes my arm. 

I don't fight his hold, and I let him guide us through the halls of his home. Baz was right things are a little different. I recognize some of the family portraits, but the one at the end is new. It's Baz as he is now with his mother and father. It's a Baz I'm more used to seeing than the grey one I grew up with this time. 

Baz catches me staring and pulls harder at my arm. 

"Do you remember when we were here for the Annual Conven Ball?" I ask him after making sure we're alone.

Baz gives me a look. "Which one?" 

I think back. "1890, maybe?" 

Baz hums and looks thoughtful. "Why are you asking?" 

"This," I nod towards the painting on our right. "Must have been painted around then, yeah?" 

Baz pauses and looks at the painting. It's Baz standing next to his sister and his mother. He's dressed typically for that era wearing grey trousers and a darker silk grey waistcoat. His double-breasted tailcoat matches his trousers, and they were probably commissioned at the same time. It's a surprisingly subdued look for Baz even with the floral satin puff tie. 

"How can you tell?" He asks me as I move closer to the painting. Baz's dark hair is long for the time as most men wore it short, curling just above his high collar. Whoever painted this must have had magickal aid because it's exactly as I remember him from that era, down to the downward curve of his lips. 

"This is what you wore," I say. "I remember that tie." 

Baz raises an eyebrow at me. "You remember that?" 

"Yeah," I say and feel my face get warmer. 

Baz just continues to look at me until I grab his arm. "Come on." 

He doesn't fight my hold on him either and allows me to lead him to the library. I still remember where it is. 

****

_Pitch Estate January 1890_

**Simon **

I'm not sure what I'm looking for as I wander the halls. I can still hear the music and people talking where I left them in the ballroom, but I couldn't stand it a moment longer. The tension in the room was thick despite the attempt at civility we all know is disingenuous. It felt like we were sitting on a powder keg just waiting for something to explode. 

I could feel eyes on me the entire time through dinner and when I was dancing with Miss Wellbelove. A younger me would believe it was due to my cheaper clothes, but I know better now. 

It's because I'm the Mage's Heir and the most powerful Magician in eighty years. I draw attention wherever I go, and that attention has only increased as I come closer to graduating Watford. 

The further down the halls, I get the softer the music gets until I'm barely aware of it. 

That's when my ears pick up on something else. It's violin music, and I'm desperate for a distraction, so I follow the melancholy notes. There's an ache to the sound, but it soothes me. It's familiar, so I shouldn't be surprised when I push open the library doors and find Basil staring out a window still in his evening wear bow in hand. 

"Snow," he says without turning around. 

"How'd you know it was me?" I ask him, coming further into the room. 

"Please, I can pick up on your particular misplaced heroism blindfolded," he drawls. 

"Why aren't you at the party?" I ask instead of rising to the bait. It's been a while since I've felt like fighting with Basil. Not since that night a few months ago. 

"Why aren't you?" he returns. 

I sigh. "Fair point." 

He doesn't say anything to me. I'm surprised he hasn't kicked me out. He just returns to his violin, and somehow the music gets even more haunting. 

I don't like the sound, but I still don't feel like leaving. Basil is the most familiar thing in this place, even if Penelope is downstairs. There's a history here I don't really have with her. A familiarity that I've always found comforting though I'll never tell Basil that.

I take up a seat by the fire and lean my hand against my palm, just watching him. It started snowing an hour ago, and there's just enough light to make out the white flakes against the night sky. He's so close to the window it seems strange none of it is landing in his hair. 

It'd look nice, I think. 

Neither of us speaks. We're just here in each other's presence, taking refuge from the ever-present conflict downstairs. 

It's a brief moment of something like peace between us. Ever since that night, we've had an unspoken truce. Hearing Basil's confession shook me to my core. I've always known this cycle hasn't been easy on him, it hasn't been on either of us, but I do always come out on top. 

I hadn't let myself think about how much that would hurt him because it's easier not to think about it. Safer, too, maybe to not think of Basil in pain because of me. 

So I've backed off, and he's backed off. Our professors and fellow students don't seem to know what to make of us. We've been at each other's throats even before the memories came back, and our animosity only grew from there. Even Penelope has been prone to throwing me the odd look now and then. 

I can't tell her the reason why.

I barely know the reason myself. All I know is that seeing him alive and breathing even if he is sad reassures something in me. 

So maybe that's why I sought him out tonight. 

Because I can see the ending coming and I know he can too. 

And I need the reassurance that he's still with me. 

His head turns in my direction, and I briefly catch a glimpse of his grey eyes. They're soft and sad, almost pained, and when I blink, he's turned back around. 

He's still with me. 

_For now_

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this update was posted at 11:53 on a saturday night. not bad for me actually. I'm trying to get on normal people sleeping time since I'm starting a new job soon and I gotta be normal for that. 
> 
> or as normal as I get. wish me luck :) and as always thanks for reading 
> 
> -still sleep deprived 
> 
> come find me on tumblr! [@sleepdeprivedphilosopher](https://sleepdeprivedphilosopher.tumblr.com//)


	5. familiarly masquerading as wisdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey void, 
> 
> have a small update. the next chapter will be longer I promise :) I spent all day playing pokémon instead of working on this so I'm sorry. 
> 
> it's just a really fun game ya know? and I need to keep playing so my pokémon know I love them. 
> 
> ......
> 
> I'm a bit lonely, all right?
> 
>  _cough_
> 
> anyway
> 
> enjoy

** Baz **

I'm laying on the loveseat in the library admittedly a bit dramatically because I'm exhausted. Snow woke me up at two in the morning because he was nervous about the wraiths. I'd rolled my eyes because he knew the house had wraiths; he's stayed here before. 

"Snow, we are older than all of them," I'd said dryly. 

"That doesn't help much thanks," Snow had said. "Can I just stay here tonight? Sleep on the sofa? Please?" 

I agreed too readily and was thus tortured for my decision when Snow removed his shirt, and I spent the rest of the night tense and trying not to stare at him. It was something about Snow staying in my room, not our room, that was throwing me. He's never stayed with me before, not by choice, and the whole thing was making me have emotions. 

I barely slept a wink. 

It doesn't help that Father keeps trying to pull me aside to question my involvement with Snow. He wants to know if I'm plotting something. I'm sure Snow was similarly interrogated when he had to lie to The Mage to get permission to leave. 

But I don't feel like lying, so I've been avoiding it. I kept reiterating that Snow and I are working on a project. I'm not sure he's buying it even if it is the truth. 

Sort of the truth anyway. I can't exactly tell him the actual truth. 

"Baz come take a look at this," Snow orders. He's been quiet this whole time. I figured he'd been distracted, but maybe he was working. I really should give him more credit. 

I crack an eye open and turn in his direction. He's waving a book at me. This morning when we first got here, I cast **fine-tooth comb reincarnation** and had at least a dozen books come flying out of the shelves at us. 

One of them is lying on my chest where I set it after I'd given up an hour ago, and another one is the one Snow's waving around. 

"Careful with that," I rebuke him. 

"Baz seriously," Snow says. "Come see this." 

I huff a little but stand up, making sure to put the book aside properly, so it doesn't get damaged. 

Once I'm close enough, Snow shoves the book at me. I take it. "What am I looking at?" I ask him as I make eye contact with a woman with shimmering golden hair. The woman's face is full of longing, and she's reaching across a large crack in the ground towards a man with a brightly patterned cloak who is reaching back. Another woman is standing off to the side, watching them. A sparking hood covers the woman's face, and one of her pale hands is resting on a large stone wheel. 

"It's a legend," Snow tells me. 

"A legend?" I ask, running a finger over the flower stalks surrounding the man. "How's that supposed to help us?" 

"It's a legend about our situation," Snow answers.

I raise an eyebrow. "We're not that old, Snow."

"I meant a similar situation," Snow says. "Just read it." 

Deciding to humor him, I do. 

Snow's right, at least. The legend is about reincarnation. Two mages separated by their families but longing to be together called on Fate to help them. Fate does not answer at first, not until they're dying in each other's arms, victims of the conflict between their families. They call her cruel and ask her why she didn't interfere. Fate said she had no control over their stars, but she could give them another chance. 

Desperate to be together, the couple agreed, and Fate spun her wheel. 

So goes a century of rebirth into the same conflict. The couple is never able to find happiness since their families always end up keeping them apart. 

It was wearing on the couple, having lived the same experience over and over again with nothing ever changing. So they decide to fix it themselves. They each went and talked to their families. With the wisdom of their past lives, they were able to bring peace between them and finally be together. At the end of their lives, they meet Fate again and ask her why it took so long. Fate told them they were waiting on her to change things, but only they can define their stars, so when they decided to take their lives into their own hands, they could finally be together and bring peace. 

"Touching," I say dryly. "I still don't see how that helps us." 

"Baz, it's exactly our situation!" Snow exclaims and starts pacing back and forth as he is prone to do when excited. "We always seem to be born on opposite sides of a conflict, right?"

"Yes," I say. "But we're hardly lovers Snow." I'm able to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

For some reason, this makes Snow blush. "That's not the point. The point is they were able to break their cycle of reincarnation once they took their fates into their own hands, yeah?" 

I groan. "Snow, it's a story." 

"Come on, you're a magician, Baz, you know the power of words." 

He does have a point. "So what are you suggesting? That we stop the war?"

Snow shrugs. "They broke the cycle by making peace between their families. So yeah, I guess I am." 

I set the book down onto the table next to us and cross my arms. "And how exactly are we going to do that?" 

"Well," Snow says and runs one of his hands through his hair. "In the story, it said that they used the wisdom of their past lives to resolve the conflict." 

I roll my eyes. "Snow this morning, you burnt your tongue because you were too impatient to wait for the scones to cool." _Wisdom of the past, indeed._

"Your wisdom then," Snow says. "You can at least attempt to be helpful." 

"I am being helpful," I say. "We're at my home, aren't we?" 

"No," Snow says. "You're not. You're being negative." 

"I'm not being negative, I'm being realistic," I argue. "We've never been able to keep the war from happening, and I know you've tried as I have." 

"Yes, but like I keep saying, we've never worked together before," Snow says. "Together, maybe we can get through to them." 

I sigh. "You really think we could?" 

"Yes," Snow says, then looks unsure. "I don't know, maybe whatever you agreed that we'd try, yeah?"

"I agreed to try to break the cycle not to end the war," I remind him. 

"But if breaking the cycle means ending the war?" he asks. 

I consider him. He's staring at me desperately, but I can still see hints of his hope in his face. He's never looked at me this way before. 

I can't bring myself to let him down. 

Crowley, I've gone soft. 

Okay, I've always been soft, but I've also always been good at hiding it. 

But I guess I'm tired of it. I told Snow that. 

I sigh. "It is the best lead we have." 

Snow's face lights up. "So you'll help?" 

"Yes," I grumble. 

Simon smiles at me. It's a wider version of the smile he gave me up on the ramparts. Like I'm personally responsible for his happiness. 

It's uncomfortable as much as it is uplifting. 

He reaches for me, and I'm so surprised that I let him. He pulls me to him and wraps his arms around me. 

_Simon Snow is embracing me. Why is Simon Snow embracing me?_

He sighs into my shoulder. "Thanks, Baz," he whispers. 

I don't say anything back. I'm not used to him being this close to me without being in physical danger. Though the way my arms want to return the embrace, I think I might be in a different kind of danger.

I gather a millennium's worth of self-control and push him away. "Don't make it weird, Snow." 

He goes without a fight, but he is still smiling at me. 

It feels like my heart is going to pieces in my chest. 

_I love you._ I think, and it's that self-control that's keeping me from saying it. 

I'm grateful for it. After all, a less controlled person might have been tempted, but I do have the wisdom of the past. 

And I know better. 

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this post was completed at 11:11pm on a thursday evening. I really ought to go to bed soon, but I won't cause I'm me and I make bad choices.
> 
> but hey as always thanks for reading :)
> 
> -still sleep deprived 
> 
> come find me on tumblr! [@sleepdeprivedphilosopher](https://sleepdeprivedphilosopher.tumblr.com//)


	6. the most exquisite form of self-destruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey void, 
> 
> so it's been a minute, huh? sorry about that. I've just been a little burnt out lately, and I just started a new job so this has been slow going. 
> 
> hopefully the next update won't take me as long. 
> 
> but we'll see. 
> 
> anyway
> 
> enjoy?

**Simon **

"Where were you this weekend?" Penny asks. 

I take a bite out of my scone and avoid her eyes. "Nowhere, really." 

"Simon come on," Penny says. "You can do better than that."

"I can?" I ask through a mouthful before swallowing and shaking my head. "I mean, why would I?"

Penny sighs heavily. "I suppose this means that you were on a secret mission for The Mage?" 

"Yeah," I agree too quickly. "Yeah, that's what I was doing."

Penny looks like she doesn't believe me for a second, but I guess she realizes I'm not going to tell her anything since she changes the subject to her paper for Magikal History. It's a subject I'm decent in, and I'm even better since I got my memories back. Maybe that's cheating, but no one would believe me if I told them, so I don't give it too much thought. 

"I've decided to tackle the London Vampire Raids," Penny tells me as she takes a sip of her tea. 

"Which one?" I ask. 

Penny looks a bit surprised. "1890s," Penny says. "I almost picked the decade before, but the magickal politics of the late 1890s is just fascinating." 

"Is it?" I ask, thinking back and wincing. 

Penny is too distracted explaining her paper to notice, thankfully. "Yes," she says thoughtfully. "There was a lot of disagreement about how to handle the vampire situation. To the point that by the end of the decade, there was a battle. It was in 1898 I believe." 

"97," I correct without thinking. 

Penny consults the book next to her before giving me an interested look. "Yeah, September 15th, 1897. How'd you know?" 

I swallow and put my scone back onto my plate. I don't feel hungry anymore. "I have been paying attention in class, you know." 

"You always are good with dates," Penny acknowledges, but she is still looking at me oddly. 

"Yeah," I say, unable to shake the coldness in my veins as I unconsciously seek out Baz. He's on the other side of the dining hall, taking his empty dishes to the bin. I scan over him, and my hands shake a little less at the sight of him whole and unbroken and a bit annoyed now because he's caught me staring again. 

I don't look away until he leaves, and when the door shuts behind him, I get to my feet. 

"Simon," Penny says as I start to gather my dishes. "Leave Baz alone." 

I blink at her. "What?" 

"You're going after him, aren't you?" she asks. "I thought we were making progress this year. You aren't nearly as obsessed with him. You two haven't fought in months." 

"I'm not going after Baz," I lie. "And I'm not obsessed with him," I add. 

"I don't know why you think you can lie to me all of a sudden, Simon," Penny says. "You should know better." 

I run my free hand through my hair. "Look, Pen, I'm not going after Baz, okay. I just need to speak to him." 

"Speak to him?" Penny repeats dubiously. 

"Yes," I say. "Just speak to him. I'm not going to start anything." 

Penny sighs. She's been doing that a lot lately. "Fine, just don't be late to class this time." 

"I won't," I say and head towards the bin. 

As soon as I've added my dishes to the bin, I'm out the door. Baz is leaning against the wall next to me, raising an eyebrow. 

I jerk to a stop causing the person coming out to bump into me. 

"Sorry," I say to Agatha, but she doesn't look impressed. Just sort of sighs at me before shaking her head and walking away. 

Last year that would have bothered me, but since I've gotten my memories back, the two of us have grown apart. I mean, we haven't been close in years, admittedly not since we started dating. I don't know if I ought to try harder to fix that. I mean, in every life I've lived, I usually end up with Agatha, and I always seek her out even before I get my memories back. That should mean something, right? 

I don't know, but I have bigger problems than Agatha right now. 

"Trouble in paradise?" Baz drawls. 

"Shut up," I say. It's his fault she ran into me. I was expecting to have to run after him. "What are you doing?" 

"Waiting for you," Baz says, straightening up. 

"Why?" 

Baz gives me a bored look. "Because you obviously want to talk to me." 

"Oh," I say, wrong-footed again. "Right."

When I don't add anything, more Baz rolls his eyes at me. "Well?" He asks. "What do you want?" 

"Oh," I say. This whole conversation is putting me off. Baz has never waited for me before. I'm always running after him. "Penny mentioned the London vampire raids." 

"Which one?" 

"1890s," I supply. 

"Fascinating," Baz says dryly. "What does Bunce's paper have to do with me?" 

"With us," I say. "You remember the raids?" 

"Hard to forget," Baz says and rubs his neck.

"Right," I say and try to keep the wince off my face as images of fangs and blood, and Baz's pale face play in my mind's eye. "It just might be something to look at." 

"Why?" 

"Because it's been long enough that people have an objective view on it," I say. "Maybe there's something there we can use to end our present conflict." 

Baz's face loses its bored facade. He nods, and there's something like approval in his eyes. "That's not a bad idea, Snow, but why stop there? We should look at the other conflicts."

My eyes widen. "There's so many that could take years." 

"I didn't mean all of them," Baz says. "Just a few in recent memory, there might be a related factor. It's always the same players, after all." 

He meets my eyes, and they're still warm with approval. My head feels light at the sight of that approval. Baz's eyes are usually so cold. "But that is still a lot of dates to go through. We'll need another pair of hands." 

"Huh?" I say, coming out of my daze with a shake of my head. "What do you mean?" 

"You should ask Bunce to help us," Baz says. 

"Ask Penny?" I mutter. "Why?" 

"Because she's already looking into the vampire raids," Baz holds a finger up to emphasize, "she's an outside perspective," another finger, "we'll get through more this way, and you two work better together anyway. Isn't that what you told me before?"

"Well yes," I say, still uneasy at the thought of bringing Penny into this, "but what am I supposed to tell her?" 

"Tell her we're working on a project for Magikal History," Baz says. 

"But she's in the same class as us!" I protest. "She'll know that isn't true." 

Baz hums thoughtfully, and I don't like that glint in his eyes. That's his plotting face. "It's a punishment." 

"A punishment?" 

Baz smiles at me, and it makes the hair on my arms stand up. He pats my arm, and I flinch. 

"Not to worry, Snow," Baz says. "I'll take care of it." 

"But," I protest again and try to grab his sleeve, but the bastard is as slippery as water and easily avoids my hands—stupid vampire reflexes. 

Baz gives me a condensing wave as he disappears around the corner. 

"Simon?" 

I whip my head around. 

Penny is staring at me. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing," I say, but my eyebrow is twitching. 

"That doesn't look like nothing," Penny says, falling into step with me. "Baz again?" 

"Uh," I say. "Yeah." 

"I told you to stop fighting with him." 

"We're not fighting!" I say. 

Penny just gives me another dubious look before changing the subject back to her paper as we head to our Magikal History lecture. 

I know I'm on edge, and my magic is leaking everywhere, but I can't help it. That's my natural response to Baz's plotting face. 

He's up to something, but he looks perfectly innocent sitting in his usual seat a few rows in front of me. 

I don't take my eyes off of him during the entire period despite Penny's growing concern next to me. She even pulls my jacket a little, attempting to get my attention back on our professor, but I don't budge. 

I know he's up to something. 

And when there are fifteen minutes left of class, he vindicates me. 

"Obviously the conflict was the fault of the Bane family," Baz muses when our professor calls on him. "The vampire raids we're being handled fine before they shoved their noses into it." 

"That's bullshit," I protest, and when everyone's eyes turn to look at me, I realize I'd said that more aggressively than is justifiable. 

Baz smirks at me. "Is it?" 

"Yes," I say and cross my arms at him. 

His smirk grows. "Pray, tell Snow why is it bullshit?" He's practically purring. 

"It-it," I'm stuttering. The entire class is staring at me, and our professor is looking more and more irritated. "It just is." 

"It just is," Baz repeats and laughs lightly. "If you were to look at the facts—" 

"—if you were to pull your head out of your arse—" 

"Mr. Snow," our professor interrupts. "That is enough." 

I flush. "Sorry." 

She doesn't look amused, and she turns her head to nod at Baz. "Both of you in my office after class." 

I glance at Baz, and he winks at me. 

My face feels hot. 

****

** Baz **

I can feel Snow's glare burning a hole into my back as we leave the office. 

"What was that?" he demands once we're back in our room and, therefore, out of earshot. "Now, we have an extra project to work on."

"I told you I would take care of it," I remind him. "This project is an excuse to get Bunce to help us. She wouldn't have believed us working together if we weren't being forced." 

Snow frowns at me. "You could have told me." 

I raise an eyebrow. "Where's the fun in that?" 

He smacks my shoulder. "Arsehole." 

I laugh, and Snow looks a little less annoyed when I do. In fact, I notice something in his eyes that I don't recognize, but makes me feel like ducking my head. 

My laughter dies down.

"Anyway," Snow says, still with that almost fond look. "I'll talk to Penny at dinner." 

I clear my throat. "Good." 

****

_Watford February 1924_

**Baz **

Snow is laughing, and I'm watching from the other side of the field. 

He's sitting under the oak tree, and the afternoon sunlight is lightening up his hair. His head is thrown back, and he's crinkling his eyes like he always does when he's happy. 

He doesn't know I'm looking at him. If he did, his face would be set into a scowl, and he'd be stabbing me with his eyes. 

Not to be melodramatic, but I'd almost prefer him actually stabbing me than seeing hatred so blatant on his face. 

Snow's face wasn't made for hate. It never looks natural on him. His face was made for crinkled eyes and crooked teeth. He's supposed to have laugh lines instead of crows feet.

Sometimes I wonder if after I die, he gets to have that. If after I'm gone, he gets peace. If once I'm no longer in this life, he finds happiness. 

He's never told me. We don't tell each other things, and I'm too scared to look it up for myself. It hurts to think that he'd be better off without me.

(even if I can't help but want that for him)

It would be easier if I didn't notice how brutal our conflict is for him. How his shoulders always slump when Mr. Bane is around, how his dark circles seem to be a permanent fixture on his face even as young as eleven years old. 

How rare it is to see him happy like this. 

It makes it hard to hate him. 

He leans his head against Bunce's shoulder, and she smiles and pats his hair. 

He doesn't know that I'm looking, so I keep my eyes on him. 

It hurts. It always hurts. 

But I've gotten used to the pain of loving him. 

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this post was completed at 2:38 on a saturday afternoon. so a very normal update time for me. though admittedly I did stay up till four am last night.
> 
> but hey it's the weekend so I think I'm allowed. 
> 
> *cough*
> 
> anyway as always thanks for reading :)
> 
> -still sleep deprived 
> 
> come find me on tumblr! [@sleepdeprivedphilosopher](https://sleepdeprivedphilosopher.tumblr.com//)


	7. the malleability of sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey void, 
> 
> long time no see, huh? I hope you are doing well and staying healthy. 
> 
> sorry about the wait. it's just life, ya know? the world has been crazy, and I have really been drained lately, so writing has been very slow going, but the rest of the fic is plotted out, and it is all going according to plan. if that's some comfort.
> 
> I mean I did plan on this been finished two months ago, so I'm not sure how comforting my planning skills are but hey
> 
> thanks for your patience 
> 
> enjoy?

** Simon **

"So, you and Baz need to work on an extra project together?" Penny clarifies at dinner. 

I nod and chew my mouthful of roast beef. I swallow. "Yeah." 

Penny tilts her head at me. "You don't really seem upset about this, Simon." 

I shrug and stab my fork into another piece of meat. "Well, I can't change it, so what's the point in being upset?" 

Penny gives me an evaluating look. "That's very mature of you." 

"Thanks," I mumble, feeling a bit dishonest. 

Penny smiles at me. "And Baz is okay with me helping?" 

I nod. 

Penny flicks her eyes over to Baz's table, and I turn my head to follow her gaze. Baz isn't eating, but that's not usual. He's smiling a little, which is a bit unusual. 

He laughs at something Niall says and hits his shoulder. 

He seems lighter lately. 

I'm glad to see it. I don't remember the last time I saw him like this, but it was probably before we got our memories back. 

Then again, as I'm thinking back, I realize he didn't seem very happy even before we got our memories. He's always been so bitter. 

Penny notices my wavering attention and taps my pointer finger. I look at her. 

"Baz seems better," Penny offers when I meet her eyes. 

I glance away. "What do you mean?" 

I can see Penny shrug from the corner of my eye. "I'm not sure," she says. "But he seems I don't know less closed off maybe, more present." 

So I hadn't been the only one to notice. "I didn't know you paid that much attention to Baz." 

"Well," Penny says. "You talk about him all the time. I might as well pay attention, so I know what you're talking about." 

I feel a fondness for Penny at that. 

Before I meet Penny again, I always feel so lost. Whenever I meet her, it feels like something clicks into place. I notice it even before I get my memories back. 

I smile. "You're a good friend." 

Penny blinks then smirks a little. "I know, don't you forget it." 

"Never," I say and mean it more than she realizes. 

Penny laughs.

***

**Baz **

It's been two weeks since Bunce agreed to help us with our "project," and I'm lying in my bed staring at the chalkboard that Bunce and Snow were somehow able to sneak up into Mummers. 

I walked into our room last Tuesday to the sight of said stolen chalkboard pushed against the wall on Snow's side of the room. I had decided not to ask them how they did it. Some questions are better left unanswered. 

Bunce is standing in front of it, munching on a biscuit with one hand and wiping chalk dust on her skirt with the other. Snow's lying on his bed making a study of the ceiling and generally not being any help whatsoever. 

"Did you find out anything interesting in that book Baz?" Bunce asks me without looking away from her scribbles. 

"Nothing we don't already know," I mutter and toss the book on the 19th-century coven aside. Honestly, the author is wrong on so many accounts that I'd written the entire book off after the second chapter. 

Snow says nothing. 

I roll my eyes, sit up a little against my headboard, and turn my head to look at him. "Have you got anything, Snow?" 

Snow looks away from the ceiling and meets my pointed look, blinking at me like he has no idea what I'm on about. 

_Snake's sake_

"The project," I remind him slowly. 

"Right," Snow says, blinking some more. "I know that." 

"Happy to hear it," I drool. "Have you found anything useful?" 

Snow shakes his head. "No." 

"Well, maybe," I say conversationally, "you can stop staring at the ceiling like it knows the location of your missing brain cells, grab a book, and help us." 

Snow's face gets a bit red, and his eyes narrow at me. "I'm helping," he protests. 

I tilt my head. "Really? You've just been staring at the ceiling for the past three hours. How is that helping?" 

"I'm racking my brain," Snow says. 

"For three hours?" I ask dubiously. 

"There's a lot to think about," Snow says low enough that it's pointed.

"Memory is a fickle thing, Snow," I say quiet enough that Bunce won't be able to hear. "I wouldn't put too much trust in it." 

"Why do we have them, then?" Snow whispers back just as quietly. He looks softer, too, like he knows it's a delicate topic and is taking care with me. "If we're not supposed to use them." 

"Fuck if I know," I mutter, and I don't want to keep looking into his eyes. There's too much familiar emotion in them, and nostalgia has always made me nauseous. 

"What are you two whispering about?" Bunce asks, turning around and giving us both a look. 

"Nothing," Snow and I say, and Bunce just sighs and goes back to the chalkboard. 

Snow does not go back to looking at the ceiling like I thought he would; instead, he's watching me. 

I give it another five minutes until I get up. 

"Where are you going?" Snow asks me immediately. 

"To the library," I answer. "This book isn't remotely helpful. I'm going to return it and see if I can find anything else." 

"I'll come with you," Snow says, also getting up. 

I hold up a hand. "No, I'd rather go alone." 

"Why?" 

"Do I need a reason?" 

Snow frowns. "Suppose not." 

"Lovely, thanks for your approval," I drawl, picking up the book and giving Bunce a nod before I leave our room. 

To be honest, while I do need to return the book, it could have waited. I have other ones I could have flipped through, but I couldn't stand to be in our room anymore. There's only so much gentle Snow emotion I can take, and I reached my limit two centuries ago. 

I don't know how to feel about our truce most days. I like that he doesn't glare at me anymore, and I like that I don't have to act like I hate him passionately all the time. I'm a great actor, but I've been putting on that show long enough that I'd gotten tired of it ages ago, and I'm more than happy to loosen the lie. I can't be entirely honest, of course. Snow can't know how I really feel, but it is nice to relax the grip and be more open with him. 

Snow's been softer lately, and I don't know if it's a reaction to the truce or he's been putting on a show all these years too. I can't tell. 

But I don't like it. 

I don't like the looks he gives me when I return to our room from the kitchens with snacks for him and Bunce. I don't like that he smiles at me now, sometimes. He even laughed at one of my jokes about waistcoats yesterday. Bunce hadn't gotten it, but Snow had laughed and given me a fond look, and I just about combusted. 

I don't like how sometimes he'll mention something from our past lives, and instead of feeling that bitterness I always feel when I'm reminded of them, I feel warm at the reminder that we share something no one else does. 

The first time I felt it, I almost threw up. I don't know what's happening and I hate it. I hate that we've gone so far off script that I'm beginning to question if there was ever really a script at all. If all these centuries things could have been different. If all the pain I've suffered was avoidable instead of inevitable. 

It's a disconcerting thought, and I try not to dwell on it too much, or I'm sure I'll go mad. I've built so much of myself based on the truths of our situation that seeing how malleable they really are is upsetting. I don't know who I am without them. 

At least I still have one truth.

_Simon doesn't love me_

That won't ever change. 

Once I get to the library, I decide to keep to my word and look for other resources. We've pretty much cleared the whole place, though, so after a half-hour of looking, I give up. 

I don't want to return to our room yet, though, so instead of going back empty-handed, I take a walk around the courtyard. 

The temperature keeps dropping, and I'm shivering in the cold a little, wishing I had a jumper when the Weeping Tower catches my eye. I pause for a moment staring at it thoughtfully. There's one place we haven't checked yet. 

I take the spiral staircase up. I know The Mage isn't going to be back at Watford for another fortnight (Snow keeps complaining about it), so I'm not worried at all about being caught when I sneak into his office. 

Just as I suspected, he hasn't changed much. Other than a few odds and ends, it looks exactly the same as it did when my mother was headmistress. There's a weird ache in my chest at the thought. 

It's difficult to explain the disparity between my previous self and my current self. In some sense, I'm eighteen, and I miss my mother just as much as I always have since I lost her, but at the same time, I'm centuries old, and there's a distance that comes with knowing that I'll see her again. That no one is really ever lost to me. 

I rub my chest as if it's possible to rub the ache away and approach the shelves. 

I'm surprised to see several titles I recognize from both lives. Past me remembers the books my mother used to flip through, and current me has actually read most of them. A few are unfamiliar to me, though, and those are the ones I take. 

I sit down on the rug, ignoring the flashbacks of watching my mother work at her desk while I played with my legos, and start reading. 

One of the books I've found is a Pitch family history, and it's surprisingly accurate. There are a few things that are embellished, of course, but that just comes with time. Most of it is word for word how it happened. 

I focus on the battles ignoring the taste of metal in my mouth and grounding myself in the familiar feeling of the carpet beneath my fingertips. With my free hand, I turn the pages. Most of it I know, of course, but there are bits that I don't because they were written after I died. 

Of course, I'd known that Snow's side always wins, but it's different reading it all at once how Mr. Bane always ends up with a seat on the coven or the title of The Mage every time. The more I read, the more a picture is starting to paint itself in my mind. 

Mr. Bane is always the aggressor. He ignores attempts at peacemaking and focuses on driving a wedge between the families and the rest of the World of Mages. I feel colder and colder, the more that I read. 

It's unsettlingly formulaic how he uses the same tactics every time to divide us. Find a greater enemy, fairies, vampires, even other covens, and use it to grab power and then use that power to dismantle the families until the families fight back and war breaks out. 

A war that he always wins because he always has Snow on his side. 

I swallow hard and stand up. 

The door closes heavily behind me. 

***

** Simon **

It's almost nine when Baz gets back. Penny left an hour ago, and I've been waiting to get ready for bed until Baz returns. 

"Hey," I say when he shuts the door behind him. 

He nods at me, and he's holding something in his left hand. I tilt my head a little to get a better look at it. "Did you find something in the library?" 

"No," Baz says shortly and sets the thick book down on his desk. It lands with a thud. 

There's an unsettling air around him right now, and I sit up a little straighter. "Then what's that?" 

"A book," Baz says, and though the sarcasm isn't unusual for him, his heart doesn't seem to be in it. 

"Yes," I say, deciding to ignore it. "Where did you get it?" 

He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter." 

My shoulders tense up. "Baz," I say. "What did you find?" 

There's a long moment of silence before he finally turns to look at me. I haven't seen his eyes that icy in awhile. 

Internally I sigh. He's wearing his mask again. I thought we were making progress. 

"Baz?' I prompt when he still doesn't say anything. 

"You're not going to like it," he tells me and sits down in front of me on his bed. 

I shift until I'm facing him completely and rest my hands in my lap. He crosses his arms. I nod at him to continue, and he lets out a quiet breath. 

"I went to the Weeping Tower," he starts, and I frown but don't interrupt him. "My mother used to keep books in her office." 

"You broke into The Mage's office?" I exclaim, and Baz jumps a little at my volume. 

He quickly gatherers himself. "Yes, I did." 

"How?" My voice is still a bit louder than it probably needs to be, but I can't help it. I'm shocked. 

"He never changed the wards," Baz explains. "From when my mother was headmistress." 

"Oh," I say softer now. 

Baz clears his throat. "Anyway, I found that," he says and waves at the book on his desk. "It's a Pitch family record of the past two hundred years." 

That explains why the book is so thick. "And you found something?" 

Baz nods. 

There's a weighted pause before, "It's about The Mage." 

"What about him?" I ask warily. 

"He always starts it," Baz says, and I'm immediately on my guard. "He's always the aggress—" 

"—no, he isn't," I interrupt. 

Baz looks impatient. "Yes, he is Snow. I looked through every conflict over the past two centuries, and he's always—" 

"—yes, according to _your family_ history," I butt in again.

"It's not just in my family history," Baz argues. "If you look at other records during that time, you see the same thing. It's formulaic, Snow." 

I shake my head, but Baz keeps talking. "He finds a greater enemy, uses it to grab power, and then uses that power to demolish the families' influence until it causes a civil war. It's the same tactics every time." 

I shake my head again. "You're oversimplifying it. If you remember correctly, the families are always trying to take power too instead of letting everyone have a voice." 

Baz blinks at me. "Are you listening to yourself? You sound just like him." 

"I don't," I say. "It's the truth!" 

"According to what?" Baz cuts in.

"To my memory!" I yell back, jumping to my feet. "This is is just like you, you are always doing this, always looking for a reason to go against Mr. Bane—" 

"—and this is just like you always following him blindly!" Baz snaps back and stands up too. 

"I'm not following him blindly!" I can't get my voice to get any quieter. My edges are starting to blur. "You can't be impartial. You've always had it out for him!" 

"Snow," Baz says, and he sounds exhausted. "I'm not saying this because I have a vendetta against Mr. Bane. If you would just trust me—"

"—I don't," I shout.

Baz stops talking. He lowers his hand from where it had been gesturing between us like it always does when he's angry. "What?" 

"I don't trust you," I say. 

For an instant, Baz doesn't say a word. He just looks at me. Then his eyes catch fire, and he spits, "Then just kill me now, Snow! Skip to the fucking ending because if you don't trust me, we're never going to break this cycle!" 

His words are like a bucket of ice water. I freeze all over. "Baz," I start and reach for him.

He jerks away from me towards the door. "Save it," he says bitterly, then slams the door shut. 

The sound of it closing echoes loudly in our room, and my eyes start to prick. 

_Baz_

My chest feels tight. I can't breathe. 

_I didn't mean that._

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this post was completed at 11:35pm on a thursday evening. l still have dishes to wash and laundry to do, but I'm not doing either because finishing this chapter was more important and I have a limited amount of energy. 
> 
> or at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it. 
> 
> 🙃
> 
> as always thanks for reading
> 
> -still sleep deprived 
> 
> come find me on tumblr! [@sleepdeprivedphilosopher](https://sleepdeprivedphilosopher.tumblr.com//)


	8. the empty phases of the moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey void, 
> 
> whoa another update and it hasn't even been a month yet? who am I right? I want to say that you can expect more of this from me in the future, but I probably shouldn't be making any promises. 
> 
> hopefully it won't be too long a wait though. 
> 
> I struggled a bit with this chapter so any thoughts on it would be neat if ya feel like leaving a comment. no pressure thou
> 
> enjoy?

** Penny **

I'm sitting at our usual table wondering why Simon hasn't joined me yet. He's always the first one down for breakfast, even on the weekend. I glance around the room and notice that Baz is also missing. 

I frown. Something feels amiss. My _something is wrong with Simon_ sense is going off. I get up and take my dishes to the bin despite not having finished my food yet and leave the dining hall. 

I'm not sure what I was expecting when I entered their room, but it certainly wasn't what I got. 

Simon is sitting on his bed, which I suppose isn't that unusual, but his eyes are red and he jerks and stares immediately when the door opens, only to slump into himself when he sees me standing there. 

"Penny," he croaks at me, and I frown deeper at the hoarseness of his voice. 

"What's wrong?" I ask him, shutting the door behind me and going to sit on Baz's bed across from him. "Are you getting sick?" 

Simon shakes his head, and he's avoiding my eyes. 

"Simon," I say, and when he still doesn't look up at me, I shake his shoulder a little. 

He meets my eyes reluctantly, and I give him my best encouraging smile. "Tell me what's wrong." 

He inhales shakily and sits up a little. "I messed up." 

"Okay," I say, switching gears. "How can we fix it?" 

Simon's lower lip starts to quiver, and then he's crying, and I'm so startled that it takes me a moment to respond. I sit down next to him, and he turns towards me. I wipe his eyes with my jumper sleeves, and he sobs harder and falls into me, burying his face into my collar. 

I start rubbing his back automatically. "Si," I say gently. "What happened?" 

"Baz," he wobbles. 

"What about Baz?" 

"I messed up, Penny," he tells me again. "I always mess up." 

"That's not true," I disagree softly.

"It is," he protests through his tears. "You don't understand." 

"Okay," I say mildly. "Then explain it to me." 

He shakes his head against my neck, but he seems calmer now, so I take his shoulder and gently pull him back until I can see his face. "You know you can tell me anything, Simon. No secrets, remember?" 

He laughs a little, but it isn't the Simon laugh I'm used to; it's too worn sounding. The sort of laugh you hear from someone much older than both of us. "You wouldn't believe me." 

"Try me," I say firmly. Simon shakes his head again. "Whatever this is can't be more unbelievable than the business with the hares, and I believed you then, didn't I?" 

He glances away from me, staring at Baz's bed, then he sits up completely and straightens his shoulders looking more like the Simon I know though I am wondering why he's acting defensively with me of all people. 

"I'm old," he says, and I blink at him. He rubs the back of his neck. "Wait that didn't come out right. It's true, but it doesn't explain anything."

I nod at him to continue. 

"This isn't my first life," he says. "I'm not sure what number I'm on, to be honest, but I keep being reincarnated." 

I keep my face carefully neutral, and he keeps talking. 

"Baz too," he says. "And you actually, though you never remember. Baz and I remember, and I think we're the only ones that do." 

"I keep being reincarnated?" I ask, and he nods. 

"Yeah," he says. "You're always there with me. You've always been there. It's one of my constants."

"And you've never told me before?" 

He shakes his head. "No, I didn't think it mattered. What was point when it wouldn't have change anything really." 

"So what's different now?" 

He starts pulling on the loose thread in the bedspread. "Baz and I are always enemies," he says. "We keep being born into conflict and," his voice breaks, and I take his hand. He holds it and his nails dig into my skin, "and I-I kill him." 

I can hear the guilt dripping off the confession, and it makes my chest hurt. "Why?" I ask when he doesn't say anything more. 

"I-I have to," he says, and he's crying again. "He's always the enemy, and there's always a war, and Penny, I have to, I never have a-a choice." 

I pull him towards me again, and he wraps his arms around me tightly. "I never want to kill him," he whimpers. "I never want to kill him, Penny." 

"Okay," I try to reassure him. "Okay, Simon, I know." 

"I never get a choice," he repeats. "Baz never gets a choice. We've lived so many lives, and we still never get a choice." 

"I'm sorry," I say. There's so much pain in him right now. It's in the desperate way he's holding me and the wetness at my collar. It's in his voice as it keeps breaking, and it's in the subtle shaking I can feel around me. "I'm so sorry." 

We sit in silence and I don't ask him any of the questions rapidly filling my mind. Simon doesn't need my questions. Right now, Simon just needs me. 

Eventually, he stops crying, and I let him go. 

He's quiet, so I ask one of my questions. "How did you mess up?" 

"Baz and I agreed to try to break the cycle," he answers, and then he tells me about their talk on the ramparts and the fake project and his trip to Pitch Manor. He tells me about how Baz came back last night with accusations against The Mage and that they got into a fight, and Simon said that he didn't trust him. 

He tells me that Baz told him to just kill him and that he hasn't seen him since. 

It's a lot to take in, but for Simon's sake, I try to keep up. I narrow in on the critical part, the thing that seems to be bothering Simon the most. 

"Do you trust him?" I ask him. 

"Yes," Simon says, then pauses and slumps forward. "No, maybe, I don't know Penny. I trust him more than I did a few months ago." 

"But you still don't trust him completely." 

"Not about The Mage," Simon says. "Baz has always been against him in every life. How am I supposed to trust his impartiality?" 

"That's fair," I say. 

Simon shrugs and doesn't say anything. 

"But Baz does have a point," I continue gently. "If you are going to break the cycle, you need to trust him. You both need to trust each other, or else this is never going to change. You get that, don't you?" 

"I do," Simon says. "I came up with the whole idea. Of course I know that. I was just unprepared, I guess, for what that meant exactly." 

"This isn't going to be an easy task, Si," I say. "You two have centuries of mistrust between you. Bridging that is going to be hard, but Baz is trying, isn't he?"

"He is," Simon agrees, voice small. 

"And he has every reason not to trust you," I say. "Given how your lives always end, right?" 

Simon nods again. 

"He's trusting you a lot Simon; you should give him the same courtesy," I finish. 

"How?" Simon asks, and I know he's just told me he's lived through countless lives, but he looks young right now. 

"At least hear him out," I tell him. "Instead of just dismissing what he is saying because you don't want to hear it." 

"Okay," he says softly. "I can do that. I can try to do that." 

"And you need to talk to him," I say. "Apologize to him." 

Simon looks less sure about this, but still, he gives me a nod. "Thank you, Penny."

I smile at him. "Of course, I'm always here for you, Simon, just like you said." 

He returns my smile and puts his head on my shoulder. 

I rest my head against his. "So tell me about all these past lives I've lived," I say. "I'm sure I was brilliant in all of them." 

Simon laughs. 

"You were." 

***

** Baz **

I wanted to stay away from our room longer. Actually, I wanted to leave Watford entirely. Just take myself out of the narrative completely so that I never have to see Simon Snow's face again. 

But I know from experience how pointless an attempt that is. I'll never be free of this cycle. 

I'll never be free of Snow. 

Snow is lying on his bed when I return to our room, and when he sees me, he sits up right away. "You came back," he says, and he sounds surprised and also a little pleased. 

I don't like that happy note in his voice, so I bite back, "I always do, don't I?" 

That takes the wind out of his sails, and he sighs. "Baz, can we talk?" 

"Aren't we?" 

He sighs again. "Baz, please." 

I frown at him, taking in his sorry state. His face is red and splotchy, and his hair is a mess like it always is when he's upset because he yanks his fingers through it compulsively. 

And I'm weaker to this sight than I'd like to be. 

I huff. "I'm listening."

When he just bites his lip instead of doing anything, I sigh and give in a little more. I sit down on my bed and face him. Snow turns until he's mirroring me just like he did last night. 

"I'm sorry," he says, and I'm taken aback by his sincerity. 

"Whatever for?" I ask just to be difficult. I've already made this too easy for him. 

"For saying that I don't trust you," Snow answers, ignoring my sarcasm. "And for not hearing you out about the book you found." 

I don't know what to say in response to that. I've never done well with genuineness, especially in apology form. 

When I don't say anything, Snow continues. "I know it's hard to believe that I mean that," he does know me apparently, "but I do mean it." 

"Well, I thought you meant that we'd work together to break this cycle," I say dryly. "And if last night is any indication, you didn't mean that. So sorry if I don't take you at your word." 

"I do mean that," he repeats. "I just," he sighs and yanks his hands through his hair. "Look, you've always had it out for The Mage. You've always been on the opposite side. I have a hard time trusting your judgment about him because you've never had a positive opinion of him." 

"I've never had a positive opinion about you either," I lie. "And I was willing to work with you." 

Simon picks up on the past tense and what it means, and he winces a little. "I'll do better," he promises. "It's just hard for me to look past all the history we have." 

"How do you think I feel?" I ask sharply and cross my arms. "You always kill me." 

"I-I know," he says, and I drop my guard a little at the pain in his voice. "And I appreciate that you're even willing to be in the same room as me, let alone work with me."

At this, I finally met his eyes directly. Simon has an honest face. He's very easy to read, mostly due to his eyes. They always show exactly what he's feeling. 

So I know he means it. 

But knowing that doesn't mean that I'm not still hurt.

I do want to break this cycle, though. I want to end this narrative and give us both the rest we deserve, so I shove down the hurt until it turns empty in my heart and I feel numbness where there once was pain. 

"Okay, Snow," I say, and his eyes get bigger. "I understand." 

He blinks at me. "You do?" 

"Yeah," I say tiredly and get to my feet. 

"So we'll get back to work tomorrow?" Snow asks. 

"Yes," I answer and head towards the bathroom. I just want to give in to the emptiness and go to sleep. 

"Baz?" he asks when I put my hand on the door handle. 

I keep my face carefully blank and turn my head. "Yes?" 

"Are we good?" Snow asks hesitantly. He's asked me that before. 

_When are we ever good?_ Is what I always said in response. Now I just rub my eyes. "We're as good as we can be," I answer, paying back his honesty with a truth of my own. 

I open the door before he can respond, and when I get back into the room, he's curled up away from me towards the wall. 

_We're as good as we get._

I climb into bed and spell off the lights. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this post was completed at 9:29 on a sunday evening. a very reasonable time to be updating I think. much better than my usual three to five in the morning. 
> 
> I even cleaned my entire apartment today! maybe I am turning over a new leaf. 
> 
> ....I still feel like super exhausted though so probably not. 
> 
> but yea as always thanks for reading 
> 
> -still sleep deprived
> 
> come find me on tumblr! [@sleepdeprivedphilosopher](https://sleepdeprivedphilosopher.tumblr.com//)


	9. well worn paths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey void, 
> 
> happy holidays for those of you that celebrate! here's a little update as a present. sorry it isn't longer, but hey this story is coming to a close soon. only one more chapter left! can you believe? 
> 
> anyway let's hope for a better new year shall we? 
> 
> I hope you're staying safe 
> 
> enjoy!

** Simon **

Baz has been quiet lately. 

He barely says a word to me outside of our room. He no longer taunts me in class. All of his smart-arse comments are gone. And even when he does talk to me, he never looks at me, just gazes somewhere over my shoulder instead of meeting my eyes. 

He told me we were good, but I'm starting to think he lied. 

I don't know why that surprises me. Baz has always lied. Half of the things out of his mouth are untrue, and the other half are sarcastic. He's never been straight with me, never told me what he's really thinking. All I get from him are reflections. You think you're seeing him, but it's just light bouncing off glass. 

It's empty. 

Maybe it bothers me because I thought that we were moving past that, that he was starting to trust me, but I guess I ruined that. 

I'm trying to do what Penny suggested, but it's hard to listen to Baz when he doesn't tell me anything. 

I suppose I can't blame him for that. I can't really blame him for anything. Even before, when he would actively antagonize me, I couldn't blame him for it. I knew I deserved it. 

I know I deserve worse. 

I'm trying not to let it get to me, but I can't help myself sometimes. I've always wanted his attention. Most of the time, I don't even know why I want it, and I never feel satisfied when I get it. I used to think he felt the same way, but now I'm not sure. He's so good at ignoring me. He wouldn't be able to do that if he wanted my attention even a quarter as much as I want his. 

At least he isn't avoiding me. I still know where he is, he's just quiet. 

He's quiet now, flipping through his Pitch family history with a slight frown on his face. I'm watching him instead of the 20th century Record archive I'm supposed to be reading. I'm staring intently at him like I can find the answer to his silence in the way he tucks his long hair behind his ear. The moonlight gives the black a bluish tint, and it is far more interesting than anything The Record has to offer. 

It's been a month since Baz and I fought. The Mage has been back for a week, and he didn't bother to tell me (no one's been telling me jack shit lately). I only found out when I was walking by The Weeping Tower and ran into him. 

I knew it was an accident by the hint of displeasure in his eyes. He hadn't wanted me to know he was at Watford, and I can't figure out why. 

I almost want to ask Baz, but talking about The Mage with Baz seems like the worst idea given how poorly last time went. 

Then again, maybe I can prove to him that I can have a civil conversation involving The Mage, and he'll talk to me again. 

It's unlikely, but I've tried pretty much everything else. 

I clear my throat. "Hey, Baz?" 

For a moment, I think he isn't even going to answer before he says, "Yes?"

He isn't glancing up from the book, but at least he's responding to me. Small mercies. 

"Did you know that The Mage is back?" 

Baz still isn't looking at me, but I can tell I have more of his attention because his eyes briefly flick in my direction. "I didn't," he says. 

I set The Record aside and pull my legs up. I wrap my arms around them and rest my head on my knees. "He didn't tell me he was back." 

Baz snorts, and it's the most alive response I've gotten out of him in weeks. "That's hardly shocking. When has he ever told you anything?" 

I can feel the usual defensiveness rising in me, and I shove it down, remembering the commitment I made to do better. I can do this. I can prove to Baz that I can talk about The Mage without blowing up, and then maybe we can actually _be good_. 

"I don't know why he didn't tell me he was back," I say instead. 

Baz lifts his head from the book finally and looks at me. His eyebrow is at half-mast. "Why are you telling me this?" 

"I thought you might be able to help." 

"Help?" Baz asks dubiously. 

"Yeah, like maybe you had an idea or something." I shrug, feeling my ears get hot. 

"Since when have you wanted to hear my ideas about The Mage?" 

I shrug again instead of answering. 

Baz sighs and bookmarks his page, then puts the book down next to him. He crosses his arms. "I don't know why he wouldn't tell you, Snow. Maybe he's doing something he doesn't want you to know about." 

"Like what? He's always told me things and asked for my help."

Baz waves a hand. "Maybe he just doesn't want you to miss any more classes." 

"That's diplomatic of you," I say, taken aback. 

"Well, don't get used to it," Baz says testily. "I have plenty of undiplomatic opinions, but I doubt you'd want to hear them." 

I set my shoulders and swallow hard. "Go ahead," I say, digging my nails into my shins. "I'm listening." 

Baz has fully raised his eyebrow now. "You're serious?" 

I nod. 

"I think that perhaps," Baz eyes me warily, "The Mage is doing something he knows you'll disapprove of, and he doesn't want you involved. Can't imagine why you've never had a problem with anything he's done before."

I wince. Baz pretends he didn't notice and keeps talking, "But maybe he's gone too far even for your loyalty." 

"What could he be doing then?" I ask. 

"I don't know, Snow, what do you disapprove of, murdering babies?" 

"I don't think The Mage is murdering babies," I droll. 

"Even fae ones?" Baz asks sardonically. 

I glance away. 

"Like I said, he would have to go really far," Baz says and stands up. 

"Where are you going?" I ask immediately on my feet. 

"Nowhere important," Baz says. "No need to follow me." 

"Well, that doesn't sound at all suspicious," I say. 

"Just trust me, all right?" Baz implores me impatiently, already looking at the door. "Didn't we say that we're going to do more of that?" 

"We did," I say uncertainly. 

"I'm just going for a walk," Baz says. 

"A walk?" 

"A walk," Baz repeats and gives me a dry look. "I promise I'll be home for dinner, honey." 

"We've already had dinner," I mutter. 

Baz sweeps his hand over his head flippantly, pointedly, and leaves. 

***

  
** Baz **

Lights are on at the top of The Weeping Tower when I reach it. 

I cast a concealment spell and head inside. 

I'm not sure why Snow decided to confide in me, but I'm not going to miss an opportunity to look into Mr. Bane. If even Snow is suspicious of him, there must be something happening that is worth investigating. 

I have every reason to distrust Mr. Bane, and I will find a way to get Snow to see his character's foulness. I know that Mr. Bane has something to do with our repeating cycle. I've already found hints of it throughout our history. 

And since our history always repeats itself, I just have to find whatever conflict Mr. Bane is planning on using and stop him. 

Ideally, with Snow's help, but I'm not holding my breath. 

After all fate might not be set in stone, but choices make a path, and we've walked our path enough times for it to become practically permanent. 

And Snow's never once strayed from it. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this post was completed at 2:55 the morning after christmas. I probably should be sleeping because I have a busy day tomorrow that involves last minute gift shopping and fixing my new (but used) car for the second time since I bought it. 
> 
> I literally have had the thing for maybe a month tops and I have to work on monday. 
> 
> gah 
> 
> anyway as always thanks for reading. 
> 
> -still sleep deprived
> 
> come find me on tumblr! [@sleepdeprivedphilosopher](https://sleepdeprivedphilosopher.tumblr.com//)


	10. parallel lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey void, 
> 
> so I know that I said that there was one chapter left. but I haven't updated in so long that I decided to split the ending into two chapters instead. I think it flows better this way too.
> 
> and in good news I am almost done with the next chapter so hopefully the final chapter will be up by the end of the week. 
> 
> in the meantime here's a update to hold you over. 
> 
> enjoy?

** Baz **

The door to my mother’s office is closed when I reach the top of the stairs. I can hear voice’s inside. One is Mr. Bane, the other I am not sure of, but something familiar prickles my senses. 

I’m frowning when I lift my wand and cast **_One Way Mirror_ **on the wall. The brick fades, and I see a blond man I don’t know pacing across the maroon paisley rug my mother picked out when she first became headmistress. I used to play with my legos on that rug. I don’t know if I am upset that Mr. Bane never got rid of it or pleased. 

I still don’t know the answer when the blond man says, “I don’t know why you bothered to call me here when my answer isn’t going to change.” There is something about the man’s face that reminds me of someone, but I can’t place it. Maybe I’d seen him before in a past life. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

Mr. Bane is leaning against my mother's desk, and he seems relaxed, even amused at the man. “If your answer isn’t going to change,” Mr. Bane says and rubs his chin. “Then why bother to come at all Nicodemus?” 

Nicodemus looks irritated. “You know why,” he says.

Mr. Bane acknowledges that with a shrug and that angers Nicodemus even more. Mr. Bane shakes his head. “You came here to see her, and yet you won’t even consider taking me up on my offer.”

Nicodemus has stopped his pacing altogether. “It’s because I don’t believe you can actually do it.” 

Mr. Bane smiles. “I’m the head of the coven, and the headmaster here, I’m the most powerful man in our society, and you think I can’t change a few laws?” 

“It’s not up to you,” Nicodemus says, and I can almost feel the bitterness dripping off him. “The council would need to approve it.” 

“I remember you said a similar thing to me when I made you an offer before,” Mr. Bane says. “And look what I’ve accomplished since then.” 

Nicodemus snorts. “Why not use that connection then?” He asks. “You don’t need me.” 

“You think I’d leave a loose end like that?” Mr. Bane asks. 

“I’m alive aren’t I?” Nicodemus asks sardonically. 

“By some definition maybe,” Mr. Bane says, and there’s a hint of disgust in the curve of his lips. “And I can easily change that.” 

Nicodemus stiffens. “Is that a threat?” 

“Merely a reminder,” Mr. Bane says, eyes glinting. 

Nicodemus huffs, but he crosses his arms defensively and tucks in his shoulders to make himself smaller. “So is that it now? Either I help you or you kill me?” 

“No,” Mr. Bane says. “Whether you decide to help me or not is still up to you, but just know that it will happen regardless and the only difference is whether you’ll get something out of it this time.” 

“If it will happen regardless, why ask me?” 

“It’s less work for me,” Mr. Bane says. “But I assure you I am more than capable.” 

Nicodemus swallows. “So the reminder is to keep my mouth shut if I refuse.” 

Mr. Bane nods. 

Nicodemus looks out the window pensively. “You really think you can change it?” 

“I’ve done far more difficult things than get a vampire back into Watford,” Mr. Bane says drily. 

I freeze all over, staring at Nicodemus. He’s a vampire that’s what my senses were trying to tell me. 

Nicodemus doesn’t say anything just continues to avoid Mr. Bane’s eyes. 

“She misses you, you know,” Mr. Bane says. “Simon tells me she’s always crying. He doesn’t know the reason of course, but you and I do.” 

Nicodemus stiffens further. “She could have joined me.” 

“But she didn’t,” Mr. Bane reminds. 

“No, she didn’t,” Nicodemus agrees softly. 

“This is your opportunity to get your sister back,” Mr. Bane says. “All you have to do is give me a few phone numbers.” 

“You make it sound so simple,” Nicodemus says. 

“Because it is simple.” 

Nicodemus shakes his head. “No, it’s not. It’s wrong.” 

Mr. Bane laughs. “You’ve done worse things.” 

“Not to her,” Nicodemus bites back. “I can’t betray Fiona.” 

I’m startled by my aunt’s name. What does Fiona have to do with this? 

“Like she betrayed you?” Mr. Bane says. “She led them right to you, didn’t she?” 

Nicodemus shakes his head. “So you say, but I don’t believe you.” 

“Who else knew where you were Nicodemus?” Mr. Bane asks. “You were at her flat for Merlin’s sake.” 

“She was surprised,” Nicodemus continues stubbornly. “I saw it in her eyes. She didn’t want them to take me.” 

“She’s a Pitch,” Mr. Bane says sharply. “They hate dark creatures or have you forgotten?” 

“They let the boy live,” Nicodemus says just as sharp. 

“Because he’s one of them!” Mr. Bane shouts, finally straightening up from the desk. “Don’t be a fool they haven’t changed their minds, they’ve just made an expectation for one of their own.” 

They’re talking about me. I know they are, and as much as I hate it Mr. Bane is correct. The only reason I’m alive is that I’m the last Pitch, and if anyone outside of the Old Families knew that I’d be dead. 

Nicodemus just shakes his head. 

“And don’t you find that hypocritical?” Mr. Bane asks. “He gets to live, and you get cast out for the same reason because you aren’t one of them?” 

“You’re oversimplifying things,” Nicodemus says, but he’s uncrossed his arms now. 

“Am I?” Mr. Bane asks. 

Nicodemus doesn’t answer and the pit in my stomach grows. 

“I’m not asking you to help me kill him,” Mr. Bane says, and I freeze even further. 

“No, you’re just asking me to help you out him,” Nicodemus grumbles. “What’s the difference?” 

“He’ll live,” Mr. Bane says. 

“You’ll have a war on your hands,” Nicodemus states. “You know they won’t let you rip out his fangs and toss him out.” 

“I’m counting on it,” Mr. Bane says, eerily calm. 

I’m completely frozen. _You’ll have a war on your hands._ Is that Mr. Bane’s plan? Out me as a vampire, and when the Old Families defend me fight them over it? Things are already so fragile between us that something like this would light the powder keg we’re all sitting on. 

I don’t stick around to hear Nicodemus’s response. I’ve heard more than enough. I race down the stairs and back towards our tower where hopefully Snow is waiting for me. 

  
***

** Simon **

I’m staring at Baz in disbelief. 

“Well?” Baz asks me impatiently, but hopefully. “What do you think?” 

_What do I think?_

I’m not sure what to think. I haven’t had a moment to think since Baz burst through our door like hell itself was after him, breathing hard and saying that he had to talk to me. 

I hadn’t gone to bed yet. I was planning on staying up to wait for him. I just didn’t think he’d be back so soon. 

I’m starting to wish that he didn’t come back at all. 

“So you are a vampire,” I say, dumbly. 

Baz blinks at me. “Is that really the thing you’re focusing on?” 

“I mean I knew it,” I continue, and I can’t seem to stop talking. “I’ve known for years, but you really are.” 

Baz huffs, irritated. “Yes, I’m a vampire. Yes, the Old Families are aware. Can we please focus on the fact that The Mage is conspiring with vampires to start a civil war?” 

“Vampire,” I correct. 

Baz frowns. “Vampire,” he agrees, but continues with, “but I don’t think this is the only time he’s done this. Nicodemus said that he’d reached out to him before, and Mr. Bane threatened him to keep his mouth shut. Meaning that Mr. Bane’s done something illegal before this, probably resulting in his current powerful position in the coven….”

Baz abruptly stops talking. “Vampires,” he whispers weakly and stares at me. 

“Vampires?” I repeat, confused at his hushed tone. 

“He,” Baz sounds choked up, “he gained power after my mother died. My mother was killed by vampires.” 

Now I’m the one struck speechless. “Baz you don’t really think—” 

“—well it would make sense,” Baz says and his voice is getting louder now. “And it would hardly be the worse thing he’s done.” 

“Yes,” I say, “but you don’t have any proof—” 

“—I don’t need any to see what’s happening here,” Baz interrupts. 

“It’s all circumstantial,” I argue. “You can’t build a case on—” 

“Well let’s see what the coven thinks,” Baz says and my stomach twists at the suggestion. “Let’s see if they think it’s circumstantial.” He starts pacing. “Or maybe we can talk to Nicodemus and get him to—” 

“—Baz,” I say and grab his shoulders to stop his words and his pacing. “Slow down, maybe you misunderstood—” 

“—what’s there to misunderstand?” Baz demands and removes my hands from his shoulders. “I think the conversation I overheard is plenty clear.” 

“You’re making assumptions—” 

“I’m not!” Baz yells and his lips are quivering. “I know him, Snow. He killed my mother.” 

“We don’t know that!” I yell. 

“He’s willing to turn me over to the coven!” Baz yells back and I’m grateful that we live at the top of the tower. I don’t want anyone overhearing this conversation. “You think he isn’t willing to kill my mother?” 

“I don’t know!” My edges are starting to blur now. “But you can’t just jump to conclusions!” 

“I’m not,” Baz says again. “I’m only saying that we take this to the coven and they can open an investigation. Don’t you understand Snow? If they find proof of his wrongdoings he’ll be voted out. He’ll lose his influence. He won’t be able to out me as a vampire and start a civil war.” He sounds desperate. 

I’m shaking my head so Baz steps closer. He puts his hands on my shoulders and I look up into his grey eyes. He’s almost smiling at me. “Simon,” he says and I’ve never heard that gentleness in his voice before, not aimed at me at least. “I know how hard this is for you, I do, but this can solve everything. Our conflict would end, it would break the cycle.” 

He is smiling at me now. I can’t believe he called me Simon. He cups the side of my face and his touch sends a jolt through me. “We’ll be free,” he murmurs. 

I don’t know what to say. I can’t bring myself to look away from him. Baz looks so hopeful. He’s almost glowing with it. 

_He’s never looked so beautiful._

Baz’s hand is cold, but my cheek is warm enough that I barely notice. 

My eyes glance at his lips. 

_What’s wrong with me?_

I don’t know, but I’m tilting my head up and Baz is leaning down and—

—and I open my mouth and say, “Just let me talk to him.” 

“What?” Baz asks, straightening up and looking blind sighted. “Why in Merlin’s name would you want to do that?”

I don’t know how to answer that. “Maybe he has a reason—”

Baz looks like I slapped him, then he starts laughing. “Of course,” he says, and the familiar bitterness seeps into his voice and his face, burning away the hope until there’s nothing left of it. I feel the loss so strong at the sight that it knocks me breathless. 

Baz lets go of me and steps away. “I was a fool for thinking you actually had a change of heart. When push comes to shove you're still on his side.”

“I’m just saying if I talk to him first—”

“No, forget it,” Baz says, voice suddenly very flat. The bitterness is gone, but the emptiness that replaces it hurts just as much, if not more. “Do whatever you want. I’m done.”

I know I’m losing him now. “Baz, wait just hear me out—” I reach for his sleeve desperately. 

I don’t know how we got here. We were so close, and now—

— _now_ —

—Baz's sleeve slips through my fingers—

“I’ve heard enough,” he says and slams the door. 

—now I’ve lost him. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this post was completed at 1:03pm on a monday afternoon. I should be at work right now, but I was dumb and I left my printer in my icebox of a car the entire weekend so it needs to defrost before I can use it. 
> 
> I really make great choices.
> 
> -still sleep deprived


End file.
